


Delirium

by Andretheshorty



Category: identity V (stage play), 第五人格 | Identity V (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Catalepsy, Delirium, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Joseph's hair isn't a wig cause I said so❤️, M/M, Malnourishment, Neurasthenia, Pneumonia, Seizures, Self Harm, They get to be soft cause I love them, joseph my be a heartless bastard but he loves Antonio very much, no beta. we die like men., past trauma, scarlet fever, soft antonio, spasticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andretheshorty/pseuds/Andretheshorty
Summary: "A young man's medical report: malnourished, catalepsy...stressed out...neurasthenia...scarlet fever...pneumonia...spasticity..."Antonio passes out after/during a seizure (catalepsy can cause seizures) and Joseph comforts him once he wakes.
Relationships: Joseph Desaulnier | Photographer/Antonio | Violinist, Joseph/Antonio
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Delirium

Antonio moved instinctively closer to whomever was putting gentle pressure on his side, a comforting weight he had not known he desired.  
He refused to open his eyes, refused to cause this lovely dream to end. He felt gentle hands carding through his hair, occasionally stopping to carefully undo a knot. Long nails ghosted across his scalp, a subtle pain, nearly enough to convince him this was real. 

The pressure, which he now realized had been a hand, lifted from his side, causing a small noise to escape his throat, almost a whine.  
A soft voice hushed him, speaking in a language he knew he ought to understand but could not quite comprehend.  
The hand brushed his cheek gently, the drag of those long nails across his skin caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end and he sighed again, thick strands of hair winding around the person's wrist, holding their hand against his cheek, almost of their own accord.

The person laughed, chiding him gently in the same language. It had begun to make sense, he recognized the words as ones of affection, though he could not quite say what they were. 

He could not feel the warmth of the sun, nor hear those sweet sounds of birds that heralded the dawn, though he never did at the manor. The sun did not seem to shine as bright there, the birds never sung.  
He knew he ought to open his eyes but the thought of leaving this place of peace was enough to keep him still. 

He found it rather strange that he could feel the person's touch so clearly, it had been quite some time since he had felt so acutely. This realization forced him to conclude that this was not a dream, but a hallucination. He could move freely in his dreams, the wounds he had dug into his own skin in his moments of madness were still there, he could feel the ache they caused as he attempted to move. His limbs were stiff as they so often were. He could not say he knew what had caused the rigidity, it seemed every day a new illness overcame him, a trance, a seizure, another joint refusing to bend, another limb losing feeling, a cough, phlegm obstructing his throat, and if not phlegm, blood. When his limbs were not stiff they seemed to move of their own accord, his head snapping to the side, his arm jolting out, his hand clenching around a glass, embedding shards of glass in his flesh. 

The hand of the specter brushed across his cheek again, its voice bidding him to open his eyes. 

He obeyed, his lids as heavy as lead. His vision was blurred but through that haze he made out the slender hand that had so recently rested on his cheek. The figure slowly came into focus, long white hair, icy blue eyes with a deathly cloud obscuring them, a face as pale as a dolls, with cherry painted lips.

Those bloody lips curled into a smile and the specter spoke again with gentle praise. 

Antonio at last managed to speak, his voice rough and low,  
“Do I dream?”  
He rasped, gazing up at the specter before him,  
“No.” It responded, “Don't be so foolish.”  
“Truly?” He managed a smile, forcing his stiff limbs to move and take the mans hand, “you are truly here? I do not dream?”  
“Non, non, mon chéri, you do not dream.”  
A name sprung to mind and his smile grew despite the flood of shame from having forgotten, “oh bless, Joseph, bless this day, and you as well.”


End file.
